


The Paths We Tread

by SeraphinArgento



Series: The Paths Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 00:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10204424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphinArgento/pseuds/SeraphinArgento
Summary: "What did you think, that we could just walk right back into our normal lives? Normal died in the Department of Mysteries! All we have left is the fight. All we can do is try to survive." AU after OotP, WIP. Ensemble cast with no true main character, Golden-Trio centric.





	

**The Paths We Tread**  
**Prologue:**  
**Small Steps Spiraling Down**

**Somewhere in England**  
**July 27th, 1996**

“Exxxcellent,” the sibilant voice echoed in the darkness. Pettigrew trembled, his knees sore and his throat dry, as his lord sat with his eyes closed, a gentle smile on his face. The giant snake slithered past, brushing against his back, and he grimaced as his stomach turned.

Images flashed through his mind, him turned into a rat and running in the darkness, snarling and hissing echoing behind him from different directions – hunted by his old friend from one direction, by his master's pet from another.

He shook his head as another voice brought him back to present, Lucius Malfoy's drawling tones echoing through the darkened room.

“I quite thought so, my Lord,” the disgraced aristocrat murmured softly. He stood by the fire, his face half-turned away from the Dark Lord, his hair gleaning in the firelight fresh from a shower. It had been perhaps two hours since he had been broken from Azkaban, the Dementors quickly eliminating all human guards. He had gone to Voldemort first, of course, then straight into the bath before speaking with anyone else. He stood regal and proud, a muscle in his jaw twitching every so often.

“With the allies of Potter eliminated,” he continued, “the boy will blame himself and spiral into depression. Draco tells me the boy is prone to melancholy and self-loathing as it is, it shan't take much to push him over the edge. A handful of his friends, dead and with messages left for him, should do the trick just fine.”

“And you see no place,” Dolohov questioned sharply, “for any of his friends among our ranks? Children they are, certainly, but some are... talented.” A sick smile twisted his darkened features, and his tongue darted out and wet his lips quickly. Pettigrew suppressed a shudder. The man had been obsessed with young Hermione Granger since that day in the Ministry, speaking often of how musical he thought her screams. He wanted, quite desperately, to have her in his grasp again.

Malfoy sneered. “Which would you take? Only the Weasley brats and Longbottom are of acceptable stock, and even then, their parents were the enemy. Besides, they are,” he added in a tone of grudging respect, “loyal little things. Only the Imperius curse would sway them. And unwilling servants are vexing. ”

Dolohov made a noise of dissent as Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. “Potter had a gift for inspiring loyalty,” he said simply. “His father was much the same, would you not agree, Wormtail?” He smirked down at the cowering man, his red eyes flashing.

 _James_ , Wormtail thought brokenly, shaking his head. “No,” Voldemort continued. “I suppose you wouldn't know much about loyalty, would you, my traitorous friend?”

Red eyes glared across the room to where Malfoy and Dolohov stood. “Capture the Mudblood and the Weasley girl alive,” he instructed. “We shall use them to send Potter a more – poignant message. Exterminate the rest, every last family member of his Inner Circle. Be ready to move on Halloween.”

Malfoy nodded sharply and Dolohov grinned. Both men swept from the room, Malfoy whipping Pettigrew with his cloak as he passed.

“Oh, and Dolohov?” Voldemort called softly, the man freezing instantly in the doorway. Voldemort smiled again, that obscene fatherly smile. “Bring the Mudblood girl to me untouched, or I shall know.”

Dolohov scowled, but bowed slightly at the waist, and turned on his heel.

Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter woke with a start.

 

* * *

 

 

**Granger Household**  
**London, England**  
**July 27th, 1996**

Being home felt – strange.

Hermione sat curled in her window seat, a book propped open on her knees. The only source of light was a small ornate lamp sitting on her bedside table, and the only sound, the steady rain that fell outside the window. Night would fall soon, and she hadn't seen the sun peek out once all day.

She shivered, pulling her light shawl closer around her shoulders, and leaned her forehead against the glass. Pain flared in her midsection again and she grimaced, taking slow, deep breaths as she fought the suddenly increasing heat in her veins.

Ironic, really, that when Dolohov had attacked her, he had gone for her blood. The Entrail-Expelling curse, while nasty and lethal if he'd been successful, was the less insidious thing he had done to her. Not for the first time, she questioned her decision to keep the boys (her boys, part of her mind cried) in the dark.

 _You should tell_ , her traitorous mind whispered. _They have a right to know you're going to -_

“Hermione?”

She turned her head slowly, the action jarring her neck and causing her to wince. Her mother stood in the doorway, that ever-present look of sadness and fear on her face. Emma Granger, Hermione reflected, had never been good at hiding her thoughts. Finally, she thought with an angry snort, her parents understood what their daughter faced day in and day out, what she had walked into when she joined the wizarding world all those years before.

A sneer curled across the face of the man standing at her mother's right shoulder, as he stared straight into her eyes as if he could hear her self-pitying diatribe. With a slight flinch, she forced down her pain and fear, and straightened her spine, her chin lifting and a slight – though forced – smile teasing at the corner of her lips. A flash of something almost like approval lit Snape's black eyes and Hermione bit back a smirk.

The potions master stepped around the two women still hovering in the doorway, crossing the room to sit at Hermione's desk. He reached into his crossbody bag and began pulling out flask after flask, and Hermione forced her face to remain blank as she watched him set each one carefully on the wooden suface. The rain began lashing harder at the windows as he retrieved the tenth vial, and her mother and Madam Pomfrey stepped fully into the room.

Sharing a not-so-subtle glance of concern, Emma sat gingerly on the corner of Hermione's bed as Madam Pomfrey knelt before the teen. The matron drew her wand and began murmuring incantations under her breath, numbers appearing and floating in the air around them. As she pressed her hand to Hermione's forehead, feeling for fever or chill, she and Snape frowned at the numbers shimmering around her form.

“The toxicity isn't decreasing,” Pomfrey muttered as Snape rose from his chair, flicking his wand and making an IV setup appear in the room. Hermione grimaced, shrugging out of her shawl and rolling up her sleeve, as her mother gave her a watery smile.

“But it hasn't risen,” Snape replied smoothly, giving Hermione, and then Emma, a pointed look. “Something we're doing is working, at least in part.”

“The transfusions?” Emma Granger asked quietly, and Hermione scoffed under her breath. Her parents would both prefer to believe that it was the blood transfusions that were combating her condition, as it seemed much more “normal” to them. They could understand it, unlike all the charms and potions. Idly, she wondered if they would still be comforted if they knew all that was added to the blood that was being given her.

As if on cue, Snape smirked slightly, picking up the small vial which held only slightly glittering, transparent liquid. With a steady hand, he poured three drops into the IV bag, followed by a ruby red, viscous liquid. Leaning forward, he attached one end of the IV to Hermione's arm, then tapped his wand to the bag. As was now a regular practice, Hermione conjured a mirror to float in front of her face, so she could watch the transfusion begin to do its work.

She was hideous, she thought blankly, as the tingling began in her arm. Her face was tinged with blue, her veins all standing out in stark relief against her skin. Glancing down at her arm, she watched the progression of the fluids through her veins, the slight golden light emanating from within her skin. Slowly, it coursed throughout her body, the blue tinge fading and her veins, while still visible, now less prominent under her slightly-warmed flesh.

All in all, the process took roughly twenty minutes. Hermione sat perfectly still, watching her face in the mirror, and watching as her eyes slowly turned back from the bloodshot red they had been, to her normal coffee-brown. She ignored the soft pings of magic as the numbers floating around her form slowly dropped, she ignored her mother's soft whispering with Pomfrey; all but her skin regaining warmth and color escaped her notice.

When the IV bag was empty, and the glow had faded, it was Snape who gently removed the IV tube from her arm, and Snape who vanished the contraption. Pomfrey bustled around her, taking reading after reading, before finally proclaiming the transfusion a success yet again. The matron handed the teen a small vial from Snape's collection, and she knocked the potion back with a cringe. Instantly, the slight lingering fuzziness in her head began to clear.

Her task complete, the mediwitch patted Hermione's hand gently, then turned and left the room, Emma hesitating only a moment before following. The moment they had gone, Snape pointed his wand at the door and closed it with a sharp thud.

Hermione was silent for several moments, but finally, she spoke. One hand toying with the edge of her shawl, now wrapped around her again, she said softly, “I'm not ready for this.”

Snape resumed his seat at her desk, watching her with dark eyes, seemingly considering his response. Finally, he offered, “You could tell them. Fools though they are, much as they vex me, they would support you.” He had an expression on his face as if he couldn't believe what he had just said, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh – somehow, he managed to make support sound like a dirty word.

“I don't want anyone's pity,” she said staunchly. “Madam Pomfrey and my parents, Professor McGonagall, they're all bad enough. I can't bear - ”

She trailed off despondently, and Snape said nothing. With a sigh, she rubbed at her eyes tiredly, and Snape let out an uncomfortable cough at the sign of weakness.

“To be truthful, news of your infirmity spreading would be disastrous,” he murmured finally. “Yet the energy you will have to expend to maintain the glamours – ”

“I can handle it,” she replied stubbornly, and the corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-grin.

“Yes,” he replied, “I daresay you can. I simply wish - ”

“No!” she said sharply. “I've just told you, I want NO pity.”

This time, he did smile. “The dreaded potions master, feeling pity for a Gryffindor brat?” he murmured snidely, and Hermione chuckled again. “Very well, practice,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione took a deep breath, nodded, and raised her wand. With a flick of her wrist and several whispered incantations, the last visible traces of her veins vanished. Her eyes brightened, and the bags disappeared from underneath them. Only her hair and nails still showed any signs of ill-health, her nails without shine and her hair limp and, as always, slightly frizzy. She jabbed her wand this time, and her hair took on a slight bounce and shine, and smoothed slightly, though still fraying at the ends. She brought back her mirror, eyeing herself critically.

“Well done,” Snape said softly, a rare smile gracing his features. “See how long you can maintain it. Owl me when it drops. And have Tonks and Shacklebolt give you some tips when they arrive.”

Hermione nodded absently, still staring in the mirror. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, and Snape clasped her shoulder lightly as he stood. His movement startled her and she raised her eyes, smiling sadly at the man who, these days like so many others, was responsible for saving her life. “Thank you,” she whispered, and Snape scoffed.

Completing their ritual back-and-forth, he replied only, “Thank me when we've found a cure.” With one last, sharp glance, he turned on his heel and vanished.

Alone again, Hermione turned back on her windowseat, pulled her knees back up to her chest, and propped her book back open. Leaning her head against the window once more, she closed her eyes, and listened to the rain.

 

* * *

 

 

**The Burrow**  
**Ottery St. Catchpole**  
**July 30, 1996**

Severus Snape appeared on a dusty stretch of dirt road, looking up at the most ramshackle house he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing. Shifting his cross-body bag, he stood and scowled a few moments before he began walking toward the front-door. He hated these thrice-weekly visits, but fortunately, they were almost at an end.

Molly met him at the door, her usual smile looking rather forced of late. She saw him through to the sitting room and quickly disappeared – to start a pot of tea, or begin making the dinner she'd try to guilt him into joining, he was sure. The purpose of his visit sat silently, staring into the fire and twitching the fingers of his right hand ever-so-often.

Snape said nothing, and waited patiently for his presence to be noticed. The red-headed teen didn't move, his still shaggy hair glinting in the firelight and his jaw clenched, tips of his ears slightly reddened. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the tail-end of raised, scarred welts was visible on his arms. As he watched, the teen stiffened in his seat, lowering his head into his hands, muttering under his breath.

The weeks following the Department of Mysteries fiasco had been undoubtedly difficult, though none had it worse than Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, he thought solemnly. The poisoning of Granger's blood had caused her to die twice in her hospital bed before he and Pomfrey had realized what was happening – and truth be told, they had almost lost her for good more than once, before an inelegant and temporary solution had been found. The indubitable Mr. Weasley, however, was now subject to what, in Snape's opinion, was an arguably worse horror. He watched, seemingly dispassionately, as shudders wracked the lanky young man's frame, and finally, after several minutes passed, Ronald Weasley sat up, and turned towards the professor.

“What was it?” Snape asked softly, dreading the answer.

“McKinnon,” the youngest Mr. Weasley said shortly. He swallowed convulsively, but managed – this time – to hold the contents of his stomach.

Snape grimaced in sympathy. He hadn't been present for the death of Marlene McKinnon, but he had heard much about it after the fact – Rosier always did love to boast. She had died broken, battered, and unable to scream, after being used in the worst ways possible. That Weasley had just had to watch that – had to see it through Rosier's eyes, as if he were the perpetrator –

The young man in question was watching him like a hawk, as he cast several privacy charms around the sitting room. Leaning forward in the chair, Snape retrieved a small bottle of ointment from his bag.  
Ron, with a grimace, rolled his sleeves up still further and placed both elbows on the end table between them. With a flick of his wand, ointment coated the scars on his arm, and seeped slowly into the skin. Weasley let out a quiet hiss – Scaradicate salve tended to burn.

“I think,” Snape said quietly, “the further treatments will prove ineffective.”

Weasley simply shrugged, a wry smile on his face. “Battle scars aren't going to upset me, sir,” he said quietly. His voice, as it always was now, was tinged with a quiet solemnity. “Are we going to get to it?”

Snape nodded sharply, raising his wand and meeting his student's eyes. He didn't bother with any instructions; Weasley already knew what to do. “Legilimens,” he intoned, and Weasley stiffened again in his chair.

It was three hours before they left that room, Weasley pale and shaking, Snape scowling and chilled. He handed his student a calming draught, nodded once at Molly, now sitting at the kitchen table, and swept from the house. As he readied to disapparate, he heard Molly's crooning voice as she tried to soothe her son.

 _Foolish woman_ , he thought bitterly. _You can't soothe away these nightmares._

Mad-Eye materialized in the walkway before him, the Weasley patriarch at his side. The pair nodded at the potions master and walked away, disappearing inside the house. Snape watched silently as the wards slammed down around the property, shimmering in the air around him and then vanishing.

He spun once on his heel...

And he was gone.

 

* * *

 

**Longbottom Manor**  
**Somewhere near Glasgow, Scotland**  
**July 29, 1996**

Neville flexed his fingers slowly, letting out a slow, shaky breath as pain shot up his arms. Spots swam before his eyes and he shook his head roughly, trying to force it away.

“Easy!” McGonagall said sharply, frowning, and Neville scoffed slightly under his breath. Closing his eyes quickly, he reopened them, focused on his target, and uncurled his fingers.

“Reparo,” he said softly, and watched as the shard of his shattered clay pot fitted themselves together. His hand was trembling noticeably, the motions jarring his wand roughly in place. He swallowed harshly, his brow furrowing as he glared at his hands and slowly, the trembling lessened until neither of them could see his wand move.

That would have been impressive, he thought darkly, if I hadn't shattered the thing by missing my target to begin with. Shoving aside thoughts of inadequacy, he raised his wand again, sharp concentration keeping his hand somewhat steady, and shot the arrow spell through the tiny hoop across the greenhouse.

“Good,” McGonagall said approvingly. “Well done, Mr. Longbottom.”

He smiled softly. His professor had gone out of her way to compliment him since she heard the way his gran regularly cut him down. It was almost amusing, seeing the usually-stern Gryffindor head bestow praise after praise upon him.

Their physical therapy sessions were almost at an end. Over the course of several weeks, he had learned several stretches and exercises to help with the muscle cramps; he had rebuilt the strength in his legs, the dexterity in his hands, and the endurance of his lungs. Now, except for his hands, his physical condition was almost better than it had been before the Cruciatus exposure.

Except for his hands. Except for the constant, shooting pains through his body. He was almost better off.

Stockier now, instead of husky, he had shot up several inches over the summer and now stood an easy six foot. His hands, though unsteady, were broader, his shoulders were wide, and his jaw was hardened, his baby fat almost gone. The constant exercise had melted away his excess pounds, and his clumsiness, too. He was fairly certain, however, that he'd be the only male at Hogwarts to be practicing both yoga – for balance – and tai chi – for his calm.

McGonagall was watching him with pursed lips, he realized, and the expression on her face said that she had tried to get his attention more than once. He shook his head once more to clear it, focusing in on his teacher.

“Good,” she said again simply, then pointed across the greenhouse. A new dummy appeared in the opposite corner, a bullseye on its center. As he watched, it sped from side to side, veering across, then forward, then back. She stood back, folded her arms across her chest, and glared at him over her glasses. “Hit the target,” she said sharply. “No damage to the rest.”

Neville nodded, took a deep breath, and raised his wand.

 

* * *

 

 

**Somewhere in England**  
**July 30, 1996**

“Not fast enough!” Lupin said sharply, and Ginny wheezed harshly as she raced through the obstacle course, spells flying around her. Lupin and Charlie circled the course, firing at her and her partner every so often as they dodged, rolled, and skidded along. A jet of fire shot out of the hedge to her right, and Ginny hurtled into Luna with a sharp cry, sending them both slamming into the ground. The dreamy blonde's hair was smoking at the ends and she gulped in air frantically, shoving her hair away from her eyes with a shaky hand. A glance at Ginny and she nodded; she was fine.

They struggled to their feet against the heavy packs on their backs, and raced again for the exit. As they ran, Ginny shot stunning spells towards their attackers, while Luna wove a shield charm around them. The young part-fay's eyes glowed as the air around them sparkled, and Ginny fought to keep her head from spinning under the sedating influence of the magic in the air.

A sharp turn, hurtling around a corner, and the ground beneath them gave way. Luna yelped as they landed roughly, coming to a rest in a pile of leaves and branches. They surged to their feet again and kept going, as the branches raised up and started to bind together, blocking their path. Growling under her breath, Ginny skidded to a halt, Luna slamming into her back and almost knocking them both down again.

The redhead watched with narrowed eyes as the branches curved in, knotting together and blocking their path. She raised her wand, drew a deep breath -

“Bombarda!” she cried, and the branches exploded. Grabbing Luna's hand, she dragged the blond through the gap even as it closed, branches tearing at their clothes. Around them, javelins started hurling themselves out of the earthen walls of their passage, and Ginny groaned in annoyance as Luna shoved her down to the floor.

 

* * *

 

  
**Privet Drive**  
**Little Whinging, Surrey**  
**July 30, 1996**

He knelt on his bed, eyes closed and hands raised before him in concentration. Dumbledore sat silently at his desk, watching as his student traced shapes and patterns in the air. Across the room, Bill Weasley stood with his back pressed to the window, arms folded across his chest and his wand dangling from his left hand.

They had spent the better part of an hour going through the runes and movements he would need for the channeling spell, but Harry still didn't understand what he was trying to accomplish. Ron had always spoken of his eldest brother's brilliance, however, and Dumbledore said the runeswork was important, so Harry simply gritted his teeth, shoved aside his impatience, and got on with it.

He traced a dozen more designs in the air, moving slowly, carefully, lest he draw one wrong. A whispered breath echoed from Harry's lips, and the runic shapes turned a shimmering gold, melting together and exploding outwards in a burst of song. In the spot where the runes had been, a dove appeared, flying away with a startled cry and a rush of wings. Harry opened his eyes, and smiled.

“That,” Dumbledore said, smiling softly, “was beautiful.”

Harry turned towards his headmaster and smiled back, then frowned just as suddenly, his brow furrowing. “How is this going to help me fight?” he asked sharply. “The shields, the transfigurations, the curse and hex training, all of that makes sense. How is summoning a bird going to help?”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers before his face, looking at Harry over the edge of his half-moon glasses.

“Focus, Harry,” the Headmaster returned, “what do you feel?”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. Biting back his instant reply, he leaned back on heels and turned his senses inward. He could feel a tingling throughout his body, a gentle, quiet hum and a steady warmth – his magic, he realized with a gasp. He could feel his magic, could sense it like he had never done before, except in Ollivander's shop.

He glanced sharply at Bill, who quirked one eyebrow silently, then turned again to Dumbledore, and his mentor smiled. “Exactly,” Dumbledore said softly. “Now that you know how to find your core, and better channel your magic – we can delve into true wandless abilities.”

A feral smile grew on Harry's face.

 

* * *

 

 

**Grimmauld Place**  
**London, England**  
**August 30, 1996**

The Order of the Phoenix reconvened two days before the school year was to begin.

The members gathered silently in the dusty and solemn house, arrayed around the table in odd groups. The summer had been long, drawn out, and eventful – not least of which, eventful in that the Order had swelled by six members, against the express wishes of Molly Weasley. With a strange look, half-grimace, half-smirk, Ron Weasley settled himself in his assigned seating with Mad-Eye on his left and his father to his right. He met his sister's dark gaze and grinned when she glared roughly at Mad-Eye. They had begun group combat training four weeks before, and Mad-Eye had chosen to attack her vanity and roughly chop off her hair with a cutting curse that, if it had connected with her, could have taken off her ear as well.

Ginny Weasley knew how to hold a grudge like nobody else, and Mad-Eye should be watching his back even more than usual, he thought idly.

As everyone settled down in their chairs, his eyes drifted around the table. Hermione sat adjacent from him, talking with Shacklebolt and Snape in low, earnest voices. Harry was, as he should had been, to the left of the head of the table, turning a small runic charm over in his hands again and again. Across from him was Bill, his eyes resting on the moody teen. Fleur squeezed his shoulder and leaned into him, whispering something in his ear, and he nodded but didn't look away.

Luna sat to Ginny's right, perched on the end of her chair with Charlie on her other side. The dreamy blonde Ravenclaw was tracing symbols into the table with her wand, smiling now and then as a puff of light flashed up from the table's surface. Brow furrowed, Lupin watched her from Ginny's left as she giggled under her breath, and Ginny rolled her eyes fondly.

Neville sat at the furthest end of the table, McGonagall at his right shoulder, his hands laying flat and still on the table-top. A book floated in front of the pair, now and then turning a page with a crisp noise, and both looked utterly engrossed and unaware of their surroundings.

Ron let his gaze travel over the others gathered at the table, from Tonks who nursed a cup of coffee in one hand and a set of maps in the other, to his mother, scowling at all the teens, to Dung, muttering sharply under his breath as he scribbled in a small notebook.

This was it. This was their whole force.

He turned sharply as Dumbledore strode into the room, Hagrid and – holy Merlin, Viktor Krum at his heels. Hagrid and Krum split off, heading for the far end of the table with Neville and McGonagall, and as Ron watched, his father shifted in his chair and shot a strange look towards Krum. Ron turned towards his father with a questioning look, and the balding redhead shook his head, biting his lip sharply.

Ron sighed, rubbing his right arm absently. Across the table, Luna looked up from her carvings and watched his hands, a sad, lost look on her face. He pulled a face at her and she shrugged, going back to tracing the table.

Dumbledore cleared his throat once, and all side-conversations stopped. Luna ceased etching the table, and McGonagall dropped her book with a thud.

“We must discuss continuing the children's training at school,” he said quietly. “For obvious reasons, it would be best that the rest of the student body not realize the – extent – of their lessons.” At this, Snape frowned darkly, and the rest of the table nodded in agreement.

“Harry,” he continued, “had a suggestion for a location where we could continue their training, that would not be easily accessible. That, in fact, only he, or those taught by him, could open.”

Ginny stiffened in her chair, and Luna squeezed her hand as Lupin rubbed her shoulder. At the end of the table, Molly Weasley bristled, glaring, to Ron's shock, at Lupin.

“Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said gently, his eyes solemn as he looked at the young redheaded girl, “do you feel you could brave the chamber once more?”

Ginny scowled, shoving her hands under the table, as Ron, Hermione, Neville and Harry all looked at her worriedly. Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth and Neville stared solemnly as they all waited for her response.

A moment later, Ginny Weasley tossed her newly-regrown hair back from her shoulder and smiled. “A memory isn't going to control where I go and what I do,” she scoffed, and Fleur smiled at the young girl as every Weasley nodded approvingly.

“It is settled then?” Dumbledore asked, and Ginny nodded.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, and Hermione, Snape and Tonks immediately turned to look at him. “It would be best if we did a sweep of the place first,” he countered. “Yes, we're training the kids in combat, and most scenarios, they can handle well enough with just themselves at this point – but what if Riddle left something else nasty down there? Or, worse, what if there was another basilisk egg?”

Harry frowned. “I don't remember sensing another snake down there,” he argued, but McGonagall grimaced.

“You were in terrible shape, Potter, when you and the Weasleys escaped the Chamber,” she pointed out gently. “You may not have noticed.”

“Agreed,” Snape said immediately. “Potter, if you could reopen the chamber for us this weekend upcoming, myself, Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye, and Tonks can go in and scour the chamber. Perhaps you could assist, wolf,” he added roughly, and Lupin merely nodded as Ginny and Luna scowled.

“What of transport?” his dad asked, and Mum nodded sharply. “If our story is that the kids met up a few times over the summer, but didn't stay together, and if we are keeping secret their trainers' identities – ” He trailed off, looking around the table.

“Simple enough,” Lupin said easily. He shifted in his chair as he spoke, rubbing one hand tiredly over his eyes. “Harry can go stay with the Weasleys tonight and tomorrow, and act like normal in that they usually stay together the last couple weeks. Neville can travel with his grandmother and Shacklebolt, who are known friends, and Emmeline was friends with Luna's mother, so it would make sense that Xenophilius would reach out to his wife's auror friend if he felt nervous.”

Drawing a breath, he added, “I'll go to Hermione's parents and get a sample from her dad for Polyjuice and Tonks can morph into her mum. They only speak to those who are here when they go to the platform anyway, so it is unlikely that anyone will know the difference.”

“A sound plan,” Pomfrey, their newest member besides the teens, agreed. “But it leaves her the most open for attack. To the outside, it will look as if she is only escorted by her Muggle parents.” She shot Hermione a sad smile, and Hermione just shrugged.

“Severus can attend them,” Dumbledore said easily. “His disillusionment charm is strongest here, and he'll be the first to know of danger. William, Charles, I want you with your parents and Harry,” he instructed.

“What can - ”

“We do?” Fred and George asked, the twins sitting side by side in shocking magenta robes.

Dumbledore smiled. “Unless you've changed your minds - ”

“No,” the twins said in unison.

The headmaster held his hands up in defeat as Ron and Ginny shot each other confused looks. “Then in lieu of that, there's no need for an assignment in this for the pair of you. All the student members are guarded sufficiently, and the train will be patrolled. There is no need for any other guard.”

The twins scowled, leaning back in their chairs.

“Now,” he said, flicking his wand and lighting the hearth as a harsh wind swirled outside. “On to the real business of the evening. Harry?”

The Potter heir sighed, still passing the runic charm from hand to hand. “Some of you know this already,” he said quietly, “but a few weeks back, I had one of my dreams.”

Ron glanced at his dad worriedly as the older man paled, and his mum stood, walking over to her husband and standing behind him with her hands on his shoulders. Harry sent them an apologetic glance – still blaming himself, the git, Ron thought angrily – and continued.

“Voldemort was in a room with Pettigrew, Malfoy, and Dolohov – ” Here, Remus, Ginny, and Hermione all stiffened, and Shacklebolt squeezed Hermione's hand as Ginny and Remus exchanged dark looks. “They were talking about an attack plan on Halloween. Basically,” Harry paused, “they plan to eliminate us. Most of us.”

“What,” Neville asked, his voice hard but quiet, “do you mean by most?”

Harry flinched. “The orders are to take Hermione and Ginny alive, and bring them to Voldemort as a lesson. For me.”

Hermione paled, and Ginny's eyes flashed.

“Poor Tommy-boy misses his pen pal, does he?” she asked viciously, and her mother sobbed. Down the table, Snape let out a surprised snort, and shot Ginny a look of grudging respect. Beside the redheaded young woman, Lupin growled under his breath.

“Let them try,” the lycanthrope snarled.

“Any helpful information about this attack, Potter?” Snape asked with a snide tone, and Harry shook his head.

“Only that Dolohov is obsessed with you,” Harry told Hermione, his eyes sad and haunted. “Voldemort ordered him specifically to bring you to him untouched; he seemed to think that Dolohov needed a reminder.”

“He shan't get near you,” Shacklebolt told the young brunette witch, and she shook her head in silence. Standing from her spot down the table, Tonks moved to Hermione's side, transfigured her straight-backed chair into an armchair – shoving Shacklebolt and Snape aside as she did so – and climbed in beside the young woman, pulling Hermione to her side in a firm hug.

Turning his wand over and over again in his palm, Neville smiled grimly. “Agreed,” he said calmly. “They won't touch either of you.”

Neither girl replied.

“So with no idea as to their actual plan,” Emmeline Vance spoke up, “what are our options?”

“We know one thing,” Ron replied. “We know when they intend to do this.”

“Unless,” Charlie countered, “Voldemort wanted Harry to hear the date, so we'd be ready at the wrong time.”

“It's all we've got,” Ron argued back. “We can make sure that Gin and 'Mione are in a safe location on Halloween night, and be ready to fight, the rest of us.”

At this, both girls glared at him, and Hermione's mouth opened to retort.

“Don't,” echoed around the table, as Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, and most of their mentors glared at the pair of stubborn teen girls. “This isn't up for discussion,” Harry, their defacto leader, continued. “If we know the intention is to capture you, we cannot have you accessible during that time. Who knows what they'll make you do,” he swallowed and let out a shaky breath, “or what they'll do to you.”

Looking up, and staring straight in Hermione's eyes, he said quietly, “You're my sister in all but blood. Ginny is Ron's sister. Do you think it's any coincidence they chose the two of you to kidnap?” he asked miserably, and Hermione sniffled as Ginny continued to glare.

“I feel left out,” Luna murmured, breaking the charged moment, and several people laughed. Harry glanced down the table, a fond smile on his face.

“Don't worry,” he said quietly, “I love you, too, Luna.”

She grinned at him, for once looking completely aware. “I know.”

“Touching,” Snape sneered, “though all these declarations are, we have yet to find a solution to this issue.”

“Have you heard anything about it?” Neville asked, meeting the glare of his once-Boggart without pause.

The dour man scowled. “No.”

“Then there isn't much we can do, right now,” Pomfrey said softly, and he huffed.

“All of you are combat-trained now, da?” Viktor asked suddenly, his gruff voice echoing through the room. Hermione's eyes trained on his face as he looked around the room, meeting each of their eyes. “All know how to use many weapons?”

Shacklebolt shook his head. “Spell combat, yes, and we've done some hand-to-hand, but no real weapons training as yet.”

“I can travel to the school or meet them on Friday nights,” Krum offered, “teach staff and sword, knives. ” At this, Ginny's and Harry's eyes gleamed with excitement, and Neville and Hermione exchanged worried glances.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, stroking his extremely long beard. “I see no issue with such an idea. Certainly, the more aptitude they acquire, the better.” He looked at Krum sharply, “You will demonstrate your skills to Lupin, Shacklebolt, and Alastor?” Viktor nodded silently. “Agreed.”

“Anything else?” the headmaster asked, and Snape sighed softly.

“McClaggen. Pucey. Flint. Bulstrode.”

“Marked?” McGonagall asked sharply, and Pomfrey drew in a breath.

Snape simply nodded.

“McClaggen is a Gryffindor,” Neville said sadly.

“So was Wormtail,” Ron muttered bitterly, and Lupin and Harry winced.

“Do we let them return to the school?” Molly asked as she rubbed Arthur's shoulders, still leaning slightly on her husband.

“We can't block them,” Tonks pointed out, “not without revealing how we know.”

“Unless,” Moody said, “we start doing random checks.” He uncorked his flask and took a long pull, then said, “Easy enough to justify, after what just happened.”

“But would we wish to?” Hermione asked, her mouth twisting in a grimace. “If they are at the school, we can keep an eye on them – perhaps gain additional information. It's not a pleasant thought, but – ”

“'Ermione 'as a point,” Fleur said haughtily. “If zey are under zurveillance at ze school, zey should not be able to cause much damage. And you shall 'ave ze advantage of knowing what zey are doing at all times. Eet ees ze best option.” Bill rubbed her shoulder lightly with a vague smile.

“I concur,” McGonagall said with a frown.

Silence reigned the room for several moments, then Ron's mum straightened and declared, “Well! Dinner time, I think,” and she disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, the food she had prepared earlier came floating into the room and settled in the middle of the dining table, and Ron quirked a smile. Slowly, everyone began to dig into the meal, and individual conversations started up again.

For once not rushing to the food, Ron sat silently and looked around the table. An image flashed across his mind – a young, black-haired woman, lying bloodied and unseeing on the ground. He swallowed, forcing the image away, and shook his head to clear it.

And with a sudden, swift certainty, he realized one of them was going to die before the school year was over.

 _Please_ , he thought, _if it has to be one of us, let it be me. Don't take any of them._

Harry, as if sensing his sudden melancholy, gave him a sharp look, and Ron grinned at his friend and reached for the mash like nothing was wrong.

Two more days until their return to school.

 

* * *

 

 

**Granger Household**  
**London, England**  
**September 1st, 1996**

Hermione sat silently on her windowseat, knees tucked to her chest as she stared out at the ever-present rain. Her trunk was packed and waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Crookshanks, whom she had captured twenty minutes earlier, was yowling pitifully in his carrier. Her parents sat in the living room, waiting nervously for the arrival of Snape, Lupin, and Tonks.

They'd done fairly well that morning, she reflected. They had only begged her to transfer to an American or Australian school twice. She'd rather expected worse.

But Hermione had put her foot down, and informed her parents that she wasn't going to let any jumped-up Hitler copycat force her out of her own country, her own life, and they had gone quiet and let it go.

If they noticed her shelves and closets were a bit more barren than they would usually be before her yearly departure, if they noticed the note left on their bed, they made no comment.

A soft rustling sound near her door drew her eyes, and she looked over to see Daniel Granger standing in the doorway. “All set to go, Pumpkin?” he asked softly, and she smiled.

Shuffling his feet nervously, the man hovered in the doorway a moment before walking in to sit on the edge of her bed. He looked at his daughter as if he were trying to memorize her face, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“Hermione,” he said haltingly, “I know your – your professor explained to us that this... that what's wrong with you is rather bad.” Hermione said nothing. “But I want you to know your mother and I, we won't give up on you. We won't leave you. And you're a fighter, you always have been. We know you'll beat this thing.” Tears in his eyes, Daniel Granger looked into the eyes of his only child. “I just need to hear you say that you know you will.”

Hermione flinched. “Daddy,” she whispered, “I – ”

“I saw the note,” he interrupted. “And I understand why you want to protect us. I'm telling you now, you do not have our permission to meddle with our memories and send us away. You are not the parent here, and you have no right to take away our memories of you.” She flinched again, and still she was silent. “If we have to live in that ridiculous headquarters of yours, so be it!” he added forcefully. “But I refuse to forget you.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stared out the window. “It's safer that way.”

Daniel Granger shook his head, crossing the room to kneel next to his daughter. With a sad smile, he took her chilled hands in his. “It's pointless that way,” he replied, and Hermione choked back a sob.

Releasing her hands, he stood and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Someday,” he said softly as he stood, “I imagine you'll understand.” Turning, he left the room, nodding to the entering Professor Snape as he left.

 

* * *

 

The dour professor froze in the doorway, taking in his student's tear-streaked face. She turned and looked at him challengingly, and he bit back a curse. “It's not too late to change your mind,” he said instead.

Hermione shook her head.

“Very well,” said the professor, and turning on his heel, he stalked into the kitchen.

Dan and Emma Granger looked up at him from their kitchen table, sad smiles on their faces. “She's doing worse today,” Emma told him softly, and Snape grimaced.

“There have been many studies proving a connection between physical and mental well-being,” he replied, his hand clenched around his wand in his pocket. “Unfortunately, as she tires, her depression will likely worsen. There are potions to combat it, and there is the old-fashioned remedy of company, but only so much can be done.”

Emma Granger closed her eyes, tears prickling at the corners. “Promise me,” she whispered, as her husband grasped her hand. “Promise you'll look after her.”

Severus Snape looked at the muggle woman and said softly, “I promise.” He drew his wand, trained on the woman and her husband.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione crept carefully down the hallway, careful to avoid the creaky steps. She paused outside the kitchen door and listened with bated breath.

“-promise,” Professor Snape said quietly. A pause, and then –

“Obliviate,” he intoned, and Hermione sagged against the wall, tears of loss, tears of relief, streaming down her face. Moments later, the professor came through the kitchen doors, looking unsurprised to see her there.

“Get everything,” he said tersely, sliding a vial holding a clump of light brown hair into his pocket. “Lupin and Tonks will be here any minute now.”

She nodded and moved silently to the front hallway, where her trunk and Crookshanks waited, and within the space of ten minutes, all magic had vanished from the house.

Hermione Granger walked out the door of her childhood home, never to return.

 

* * *

 

A/N:

And so it begins.  This story will be a multi-arc, AU after OotP (though I may occasionally use characters or items from beyond OotP).  It is written several chapters in advance but not complete.  Warnings include but are not limited to: Major Character Death, Rape/NonCon, Suicide, Drug Addiction, Graphic Violence, Graphic Language. I am currently also posting on FFN and Mugglenet, under the same penname. 

My version of HP is much darker and harder than Jo's original.  Assume no one is safe, and please, review if you have something to say. 

~*~Seraphin


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